


Interlude: "Really, Thrawn?"

by WantonWhale



Series: Good Day, Lieutenant Vanto [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Thrawn Series - Timothy Zahn (2017)
Genre: Acarology, Courtroom Drama, Grief, Horticulture, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Oh no I got feels sauce on my comedy potato, Poor Thrass, Thrass is a good brother, Thrass misses Eli far more than he ever missed his brother, Thrawn's too busy being under house-arrest to fight the Grysk so now Eli has to, acaridian vendetta, botanical battles, but don't test his patience, flagrant abuse of gardeners by Thrawn, flagrant abuse of legal principles by author, gardening as warfare, house arrest, it has been exceedingly limited lately, ok seriously how did all these feels get in here, sibling shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:07:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22923076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WantonWhale/pseuds/WantonWhale
Summary: After Eli is deployed to fight the Grysk and recover the captured Navigators, Thrawn has been finding increasingly inappropriate ways to distract himself from his bond-mate’s absence, his precarious legal situation, and the boredom of house-arrest.Unfortunately for those in charge of his legal defense—namely Thrass—he gets a littletoodistracted with an acaridian vendetta that is personal:verypersonal.Also known as: That time Thrawn took up gardening.
Relationships: Thrass | Mitth'ras'safis & Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo, Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo/Eli Vanto
Series: Good Day, Lieutenant Vanto [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1626466
Comments: 58
Kudos: 102





	1. Identifying the Enemy

**Author's Note:**

> Happy 400 Thranto fics, everyone! Welcome to the next installation of "Good Day, Lieutenant Vanto!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thrawn takes up a new hobby and declares war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there! Welcome back! 
> 
> For context, it might be helpful to reread the [Epilogue ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22550122/chapters/54139348) of GDLV. 
> 
> That's a reminder for me, by the way.
> 
> You can do what you want. *boop*

_There is satisfaction in defeating an enemy. But one must never allow oneself to become complacent. There are always more enemies to be identified, faced, and vanquished._

_All warriors understand the need to face and defeat the enemy. Both aspects of the task can be challenging. Both can require thought, insight, and planning. Failures in any of those areas can cost unnecessary time and irreplaceable lives._

_But a warrior may forget that even the task of identifying the enemy can be difficult. And the cost of that failure can lead to botanical catastrophe.*_

“Really, Thrawn? Again? I mean, _really_?” 

Thrawn did not divert his eyes from the garden before him. His brother’s histrionics were frequent, and his irritation was inconsequential when compared to his aesthetic mission. “He lacked vision,” he said unapologetically, continuing to stare at the gardens.

Thrass growled in frustration. “Ao’vanolo was the _third_ gardener we’ve gone through in a _month_! I _do_ have a job, you know! And _at_ that job, I am in the middle of dealing with a bluewheat shortage crisis the likes of which hasn’t been seen in a _century_ , and I am _not_ going through the hassle of hiring another gardener just so you can _traumatize_ them into leaving like all the others!” Thrass threw up his hands in frustration and completed his rant, “And so now we shall be forever gardener-less: I hope you’re happy.”

“I do not require happiness: only excellence,” Thrawn stated simply.

“Oh for the love of—“ Thrass pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. His brother-in-law could _not_ come home soon enough.

Since Eli had been redeployed, Thrawn had appeared to undiscerning eyes to be largely unaffected. However, Thrass knew his brother better. The man had been _desperate_ to find anything and everything that could distract him from the void in his life left by the Lieutenant Commander’s absence. And the fact that Thrawn was still trapped in this house until his trial was not helping matters. Thrass had done his best to humor his little brother—he really had. But this persistent collapse of household order into chaos in the name of ameliorating his brother’s _boredom_ was just too much for him to take.

And so Thrass told him so.

“Thrawn,” Thrass said sharply, his patience having already been a footnote in a history book long before he’d even _reached_ the gardens. “When you decided you wanted to learn to play the _ch’ello_ and practiced at all hours, I was fine. When you started obsessively combing the CSF’s digital records for cold-case art thefts, I was fine. Even when you started _solving_ them, sending your theories to the news outlets and making the CSF all look like _idiots—_ “

“—they _are_ idiots,” Thrawn protested, “and I cannot reasonably be held accountable for that.”

“Maybe,” Thrass conceded with a nod. “But do you _really_ think antagonizing the CSF even further—just for _fun,_ no less—is really the wisest move right now?”

Thrawn considered this for a moment, then shook his head. “The people of Csilla deserved to know that the Sala’vato’dali in the CMA was a forgery, and had been for over sixty years. Given the usually-glacial pace of CSF investigations, contacting media outlets was the most efficient means of accomplishing that task. They should be grateful.”

Thrass’s glare—though he’d not have thought it possible at this point—intensified. “You showed them up, Thrawn: they were never going to be _grateful._ ”

Thrawn’s face was as close to confused as it ever got. “That makes no logical sense: they are law enforcement. They _should_ be grateful to have a criminal master-mind off the streets.”

“She wasn’t _on the streets_ : she is a _117-year-old woman_!” Thrass snapped.

“Her body may be racked with the infirmities of age, but her mind is as sharp and as devious as ever.” Thrawn turned his gaze away from the gardens to face his brother for the first time, “Did they provide the additional security to her cell that I suggested?”

Thrass snorted derisively. “If by ‘cell’ you mean ‘nursing home,’ then yes: her nurses will be extra vigilant, I am _so sure._ ” Thrawn blinked at him and Thrass spat, “ _No,_ Thrawn, they did _not._ ”

“Then they are fools,” Thrawn said levelly, turning back to stare at the gardens. The woman’s machinations had put Nightswan to shame. Anyone who underestimated her—be it officer _or_ nurse—would _regret it_. 

Thrass groaned, letting his head fall back a moment to glare at the sky, as if demanding answers from a cruel and uncaring god. “None of that matters. The point is, this—“ he swept his hands over the gardens pointedly, “—is _not_ an acceptable _release_ for your pent-up _creative_ energy!”

Thrawn narrowed his eyes slightly. The way his brother enunciated ‘creative’ with a slightly-lowered pitch lent Thrawn to believe that his brother did not, in fact, mean ‘creative.’ He was most likely insinuating that his bond-mate’s absence and the subsequent lack of sexual fulfillment was having a deleterious effect on him. He frowned thoughtfully: his brother may have a point. Turning back to Thrass, he asked, “Do you believe my faculties to be compromised?”

“Honestly?” Thrass sighed, “No more than usual. I think you are _bored_. Mitth’eli’va is many things to you, but boring was never one of them, and he _certainly_ kept your mind occupied.”

“That is true. Eli cannot help but be stimulating,” Thrawn said, ignoring Thrass' muttered " _gross_ " as he returned his gaze to the gardens, “Unlike this design.” He waved his hand over a sweep of ivy that fell over an outcrop of rock. “Utterly predictable; it provides no scope for the imagination.”

“Well, congratulations, Thrawn, because I am done: you are now our gardener.” He swept his arm at the gardens and said resignedly, “ _Have at it!_ ”

“If you insist,” Thrawn said with a polite bow of his head, not watching as Thrass stormed off, slamming the door behind him that, ever since the night of Thrawn’s return, squeaked.

* * *

Before touching the gardens, Thrawn spent three days in deep research, learning all he could about soil conditions, weather patterns, a cost-benefit analysis of different fertilizers, local pests, and, of course: design.

Once satisfied he possessed a suitable base-knowledge, Thrawn left his library to survey the garden and formulate a plan of attack. The garden was largely local flora, with a few imported varieties. Thrawn appreciated the value of importing a foreign species and was not averse to keeping them in principle. However, they were an unnecessary drain of limited resources in this particular case and would have to go.

Thrawn inspected the barren, gnarled moonfruit tree. From his interrogation of the first gardener, he’d learned that the tree had not born fruit in many years.

He’d also learned that gardeners did not appreciate being interrogated.

However, nothing from his research led him to believe that barrenness was to be expected from a tree this age—on the contrary, it should be at its most fruitful.

Thrawn approached the tree cautiously, circling it and eying it from all angles: the dark gray-blue bark, the pale gray leaves, the branches that stubbornly refused to bud. There was a tangle of some sort of ivy climbing the trunk—perhaps it was diverting resources? Choking it of water or moonlight?

Thrawn took one of the vine’s blue-green leaves in his hand, inspecting it closely. The plant catalogs he’d received made no mention of anything remotely resembling this plant, but nor was it a weed. Perhaps it had been dormant, only rising above the surface recently? Or else its seed had been carried in by the wind or an animal?

He traced along the vine with one finger, tracking it around the tree to its base, then back again, following the narrowing vine to a neighboring starzalea bush to the tip, whereupon rested a single, closed, burgundy bud the size of his hand.

Thrawn’s eyes widened. Surely that was not what he thought it was. The _ahna_ flower bloomed but once in its long life in one moment of glory that was impossible to predict before it reached this stage. Its blossom would last for a minute—maybe less—before its phosphorescent gold and red petals would fall to the snow in a brilliant display, perfectly capturing the beauty of transience.

Thrawn himself had only seen it replicated in illustrations.

To share such a moment with Eli would be exquisite. The only thing that pleased Thrawn more than a moment of perfect beauty was its reflection on his love’s face. But as it was, the flower would likely bloom before Eli could come home… a true shame.

Thrawn held his breath and leaned closer, examining the closed-up burgundy bud. It was roughly the length of his hand, tucked safely within its leafy shell. It was perfect: a lone promise of future brilliance, nestled within a vine of unremarkable blue-gray leaves. Upon one of those leaves, he noticed, was a miniscule, almost microscopic, furry spot of white.

Thrawn narrowed his red eyes, his face darkening.

_Ice-mites._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Diary passage is from the beginning of chapter 7 in Zahn’s Thrawn novel. The only change I made was (obviously) the insertion of “botanical.”
> 
> 1\. ch’ello. Basically a cello, and Eli’s favorite instrument. Also my favorite instrument lol. And no, Thrawn does not have much talent for music, but he tried real hard for a while (music is Thrass and Eli’s department)  
> 2\. Sala’vato’dali = Salvador Dalí  
> 3\. ahna. A rare blossoming vine, endemic to Csilla. The vine itself can live many years, but only blooms once, thereupon it dies. Like a metaphor or something.  
> 


	2. Evil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thrawn gives no quarter.

Part Two: “Evil”

_“There are conflicting stories on how best to deal with the elusive ice-mite. Some are accurate; others have been eroded by the twin forces of distance and time._

_But one fact has always remained constant: The ice-mite must be approached from a position of strength and respect. One must have strength, for the ice-mite can sense fear, and will not bow before an unworthy foe. One must have respect, for the rare and beautiful blossoms upon which the mites prey may fall before the weapons intended against their predator._

_There will be many situational differences to take into consideration—season, temperature, neighboring flora, local fauna—and a warrior dealing with the ice-mite must be wary of them, as is the ice-mite. But never make the mistake of believing the creature’s forbearance equates to acceptance; the ice-mite is wise, and will retreat in the face of insuperable danger, only to return in greater force the moment the opportunity presents itself._

_There are things in the universe that are simply and purely evil. A warrior does not seek to understand them, or to compromise with them._

_He seeks only to obliterate them.”*_

Thrass sat at his desk, his hands folded across his lap as he stared at his comm terminal. The first week after Eli’s redeployment, they’d received several direct calls. The second week, they instead began receiving prerecorded transmissions that were sent to the CDF comm processing center before being rerouted to the Mitth Manor.

Whenever they received a transmission the relief was twofold: first of all, Thrass got to hear from someone he actually _liked_ talking to. He had tried to convince himself back when Eli had received his orders that he would manage just fine without the human’s presence.

And he _was_ managing just fine, really.

But he missed the music Eli had brought to his life.

Thrass recalled the first time Eli had discovered the _pa'i'no_ in one of the parlors, the warmth of his smile and intensity of his eyes as Thrass demonstrated how the keys functioned and explained how Chiss musical notation worked. It was not a surprise—but still a delight—that Eli's wonderfully mathematical mind was making music within minutes, his fingers dancing across the instrument with complete confidence.

The clearly jealous look on Thrawn’s face wasn’t _why_ Thrass had enjoyed the experience so much, but it certainly didn’t hurt.

Okay, it _was_ the best part.

But Eli’s happiness was a close second.

Once, over breakfast, Eli had described his favorite Lysatran instrument—the banjerhu—and Thrass thought the structure and tone he described sounded remarkably like the _ch'ello._ The moment Eli was whisked off by his brother—doubtlessly to remind him just _which_ brother he’d married—Thrass contacted an artisan and placed an order. That was two months ago. The instrument was due to arrive in two weeks.

But most importantly, the transmissions provided relief: they knew Mitth’el’iva was relatively safe if his position was secure enough to risk sending a message.

It soon became clear, however, that his safety was short-lived.

They could not be kept abreast of the details, of course, but they knew that whatever Eli was doing simply did not permit him the security to make any more transmissions to Csilla.

After Eli’s last transmission home, he looked exceptionally drained: purple circles marred his eyes, and his forehead seemed permanently etched with worry.

_“I’m so sorry, I know it was probably a fool’s hope to think I’d be able to call home so much, but I miss you,” he’d said, an apologetic smile on his face. “Just know that wherever I am and whatever I’m doin’, I’m thinkin’ of you. I love you.”_

Thrass had sometimes heard the message through the walls late at night, replaying Eli’s words over and over again as if they concealed some code that would reveal when his bond-mate could finally come home if only he could crack it.

Now, Eli had been gone nearly a month and had not been able to contact home for well over half of that.

And Thrawn, predictably, was not taking it well.

With each day that went without hearing that Eli was safe came an increase in Thrawn’s determination to utterly consume both his own mind—and indeed the rest of the household—with his pet-project.

Thrass had no idea why he’d let himself hope this new gardening venture would be a nice, subdued, soothing, productive use of Thrawn’s time.

Stupid of him, really.

With a loud groan, Thrass stepped out of his office to seek out his brother, putting on his best _po’ke’rr_ face.

Thrawn was seated in the center of the garden on a chair he’d purloined from the dining room, surrounded by a ring of projected holo-images. Thrass could just make out the meditative expression on his face through the floating image of what looked like a close-up of insect eggs, bundled upon a leaf.

“Thrawn…?” Thrass began cautiously, peeking around an image. “I thought you were _gardening._ What’s all _this_?”

“The enemy,” Thrawn said. “Tell me, Thrass—would you see the construction of an ovular structure as being more analogous to craft? Or art?”

“Neither, actually,” Thrass said, wrinkling his nose at the images of furry white mites.

“Hmm… you see the intervention of consciousness as a necessary if not sufficient condition for either production to qualify as such?”

“Sure,” Thrass said with a tired sigh. “ _Why not_.”

“Nonetheless, the structure of the eggs is _fascinating._ ” Leaning forward, Thrawn gestured to a blown-up image of a single egg. “The eggs are uniquely and notoriously impervious to predators, fumigation, and even direct chemical application. A cap of wax surrounds the ovum, yet somehow must allow for the uptake of oxygen for the development of the mite inside.” He shook his head in admiration. “Most impressive.”

“Thrawn—” Thrass began but was cut off by Thrawn standing, gesturing to a diagram of the egg.

“See this image here,” Thrawn said, folding his hands behind his back. “The wax molecules polymerize _after_ secretion.”

“I have no idea what that means and I think you know that,” Thrass said impatiently.

“It _means,_ ” Thrawn said smoothly, _“_ that depending upon the duration _before_ polymerization occurs, this may be a potential weakness to exploit. No fortress, no matter how strong, is impregnable. Their assuredness in their own safety will be their downfall.”

 _Okay, that was quite enough_.

“Mitth’el’iva called,” Thrass lied in his second-best lying voice, as his first-best lying voice would have been far too suspicious. “He says he loves me and misses me and can’t wait to come home and hold me in his arms. You may or may not have been given a cursory honorable mention, but time was limited.” He shrugged and as an afterthought added, “What with a war being on and all.”

Thrawn’s mouth fell open slightly, a look of subdued horror in his eyes. “Why didn’t you summon me?”

Thrass threw up his hands defensively. “Because I had no idea where you _were_ , and he only had a minute to spare anyway. Seemed cruel to give the poor thing no one to talk to while I went out searching for you, only for him to have to cut off the call anyway.” He sighed fondly, staring wistfully up at the sky. “ _Ours_ is a special love—a purer love, if you will—untainted by the desires of the flesh.”

Thrawn stared at his brother in silence for several long, _long_ moments. “He is safe, then?”

Thrass arched an eyebrow. “You know more about CDF protocol than I,” he said simply. “Would _you_ say he’s safe?”

Thrawn folded his arms across his chest, looking over his shoulder to stare at the closed _ahna_ blossom, carefully cordoned off by an elaborate series of carefully-knotted nets. “Perhaps.”

* * *

Thrawn sat at his desk, surrounded by assorted petri dishes, beakers, notes, and the confidential biweekly report on the status of the Ascendancy distributed to Syndics that Thrawn had managed to intercept from Thrass’s utterly incompetent assistant.

His red eyes were focused determinedly on his notes, staring with laser-like intensity at his diagram of the wax structure surrounding the ice-mite egg.

It was possible something had been reported on the CDF campaign led by the _Steadfast._ It was possible that Commander Mitth’el’iva would be mentioned.

It was possible that his _death_ would be mentioned.

But so long as Thrawn did not look at it, that possibility could not manifest. His eyes trailed reluctantly to the shining black datapad, looking just at the top-most entry:

_Temperature fluctuations in equator continue. Excess of rainfall impacts Bluewheat crop production. High Syndic Lai urges—_

He flicked his eyes away, staring down at his notes on the chemical transformation of the egg’s waxy outer shell in the different stages of polymerization. Holding his breath, he let his eyes roam back to the data-pad.

_Food costs soar upon projected shortage of blue—_

His eyes glanced at a petri-dish before returning to the data-pad once more.

_Mitth’raw’nuruodo, bond-mate of Lieutenant Commander Mitth’el’iva and ward of Syndic Mitth’ras’safis due to appear in court in four days to answer for his wanton destruction of—_

Thrawn let out the breath he’d been holding. Had something happened, surely it would appear _before_ mention of his trial?

Unless the Syndic reports were not organized by the priorities of a former CDF Commander, or the bond-mate of one.

Thrawn’s eyes slid back to the report, scanning for any mention of the CDF, Grysk, or Commander Mitth’el’iva.

There was nothing.

And now that he knew that for a fact, he did not feel much better. No mention of victories did not bode much better than no mention of defeats.

Determinedly forcing down his worry, Thrawn gathered his materials.

After a week of many carefully-conducted trials, he had a theory.

It was now time to test that theory.

* * *

Thrass glanced once again at the _real_ Syndic report his _real_ assistant had delivered. Some people might think that hiring a fake assistant to deliver reports to his home office that had been specifically redacted of all mention of the CDF or the campaign against the Grysk was extreme.

Those people did not know his brother like he did.

He expected this ruse would work _maybe_ twice before Thrawn caught on… if he hadn’t already.

For the fifth time in a row, Thrass read the short blurb provided by the Minister of War:

 _Captured Ch’hana Station reclaimed_ _by_ Warrior’s Fortune _and_ Steadfast _. Minimal casualties. Several Ozyly’esehembo recovered._ Steadfast _pursuing Grysk to recover remaining Ozyly’esehembo._

As he erased the report, Thrass wondered if a human Commander’s death or injury would be worthy of particular mention. Thrawn might know, but he was hardly going to ask him.

The man’s trial was in thirty hours. The _last_ thing he needed was to hear _anything_ about his bond-mate. The last time Thrass had been careless enough to mention it, Thrawn had placed an obscenely expensive order for state-of-the-art chemistry equipment.

It wasn’t as if they couldn't afford it. But if anyone could finally manage to drain the Mitth coffers, his brother could. 

Deciding it was time to make a token effort to get Thrawn to step away from his current obsession long enough to actually prepare for his trial, Thrass headed to the gardens.

He groaned as he stepped outside.

Thrawn was standing in the section he had cordoned off in yellow tape. He wore thick gloves and a red safety visor perched upon his head, wielding some sort of…

Thrass narrowed his eyes, shaking his head at his brother’s flagrant abuse of orthodox horticulture.

_It was a fucking plasma torch._

He took a few careful steps forward, watching as Thrawn gave the single ice-mite clinging tenaciously to the _Ahna_ vine one last reproachful look before sliding down his red safety-visor and igniting the plasma-torch with a whirr of orange light.

Thrass coughed lightly, knowing better than to startle his brother when he got into such a state. “Thrawn…” he began cautiously, keeping a wary distance. “What are you doing?”

“Eliminating a threat,” Thrawn said simply before leaning forward and applying the torch to the ice-mite, sending red sparks flying back at his face.

“Okay…” Thrass said. “May I ask _why_?”

Thrawn drew himself to his full height, staring down at the utterly unaffected furry white dot for a moment before turning to face Thrass, his expression darkening. “A warrior does not seek to understand evil, brother: only to destroy it.”

“Evil?” Thrass asked against his better judgment.

“Ice-mites,” Thrawn said darkly.

Thrass pressed his lips into a firm line and gave a short nod. “So you’re going to kill them off, are you? Aren’t you worried about tropical cascade?” he asked in the ultimately-futile hope that maybe— _maybe_ —Thrawn could be dissuaded from his present course of action, and guided back to his office to go over evidence with him.

“ _Trophic_ cascade,” Thrawn corrected as he turned up the heat on the torch, turning the previously-orange flame blue.

“My mistake,” Thrass said pleasantly. Grumbling under his breath he added, “ _nerd,_ ” as he retreated to the relative sanity of the indoors. 

If Thrawn wasn’t going to prepare for his trial, then Thrass would simply have to _over-prepare some more._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “scope for the imagination”: I LOVE Anne of Green Gables. I think Thrawn would be incredibly entertained by Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, and would 100% try to send her to the Ascendancy and you can quote me on that. 
> 
> Po'ke'rr? Really, Whale? Okay, somebody just stop me, please.
> 
> Lysatran banjerhu: linguistically, a cross between the erhu and the banjo, but really more of a cross between an erhu and a cello: [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wljCl7Kk51w) if you wanna hear an erhu and cello talk to each other—[here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v6Pih_0RTjY) if you wanna hear an erhu and cello talk about Rihanna and, just because, [here’s](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nM4BwEIKvqQ) two cellos talking about how one has the high ground and so the other shouldn’t even try it.
> 
> Original passage by Timothy Zahn from the beginning of Chapter 18 that I retooled:
> 
> “There are many stories and myths about the Chiss. Some are accurate; others have been eroded by the twin forces of distance and time.
> 
> But one fact has always remained constant: The Chiss must be approached from a position of strength and respect. One must have strength, for the Chiss will only deal with those capable of keeping their promises. One must have respect, for the Chiss must believe that those promises _will_ be kept.
> 
> There will be many cultural differences, and a warrior dealing with the Chiss must be wary of them. But never make the mistake of believing forbearance equates to acceptance, or that all positions are equally valid. There are things in the universe that are simply and purely evil. A warrior does not seek to understand them, or to compromise with them. He seeks only to obliterate them.”


	3. "Victory too great to bear"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The _ahna_ blossom blooms at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains discussion of grief, and is momentarily fluffier than a wampa. Normal snarky-banter content will return shortly.

_“All strive for victory. But not all understand what it truly is._

_To a soldier or pilot on the line, victory is surviving the current battle. To a politician, victory is an advantage one can bring to a bargaining table. To a warrior, victory is driving an enemy from the field of battle, or bringing him to surrender._

_Sometimes the victory is greater than the warrior could ever hope for._

_Sometimes it is more than he is able to bear._

_And sometimes it only requires a mild acid.”  
_

Timothy Zahn, _Thrawn_

** Part III: Victory too great to bear **

Thrass had been counting on the fact that Thrawn was aware that Mitth’el’iva’s hopes and happiness rested on his bond-mate’s being acquitted when he told Thrawn to be in the foyer and ready to go at 10:00 hours. 

But for some reason Thrass could not begin to fathom, Thrawn evidently did _not_ see Mitth’el’iva’s hopes and happiness as being of sufficient import to warrant him abandoning his campaign against the ice-mites in the garden.

“Thrawn!” Thrass yelled as he stepped outside, gingerly stepping over the series of holo-recorders his brother has apparently felt the need to set up.

It was just more evidence he'd need to destroy after murdering Thrawn.

“We needed to be in the snow-speeder _ten minutes ago,_ what the hell are you still doing out here?” Thrass demanded.

“It is time,” Thrawn said simply, his eyes fixed on the tangle of vines before him.

“Thrawn,” Thrass said, his voice a warning growl. “I have been very patient. But if you are late for this trial I swear I will—“

Thrawn shrugged. “The timing is unfortunate. All the same, this is more important.” 

After two minutes of futilely attempting to forcibly pull his far stronger brother away by his arm, Thrass was practically sobbing in frustration. He felt like Chiss’yphus, doomed by fate to push a Thrawn-shaped boulder uphill for all eternity.

“You can kill the ice-mites later, just _please_ come—“

“I have already vanquished the ice-mites,” Thrawn said, still staring at the vine.

Thrass sighed in resignation, wondering vaguely what his brother-in-law would do to him when he got home only to find his bond-mate had been exiled— _permanently_ this time. He gave his brother one last pleading look before following his gaze, noticing the large burgundy bud for the first time. It must be what had been cordoned off before, he supposed. “What is that thing, anyway?” he asked.

“An _ahna_ blossom,” Thrawn said quietly.

Thrass’s eyes widened for a moment before his face softened in understanding. “I see,” he said quietly. He hesitated for a moment then asked, “It's about to bloom, then?"

"It is."

Thrass hesitated a moment, debating whether this was a wound he should be opening up. But if it was as he suspected: that Thrawn's gardening campaign had been less about destroying pests so much as it was a feeble attempt to protect this blossom and the name it shared, then it could do no harm.

The wound was already open.

"Do you remember Ahna’vee?” Thrass asked cautiously.

“I do not remember her face,” Thrawn said. “But I remember her voice when she sang… the way her hair smelled. That is all.”

Thrass nodded, turning back to look at the blossom. He could have sworn he saw it twitch. “You were very, very young when she died. I’m amazed you remember even that much.”

“What do you remember?” Thrawn asked, not blinking as he continued to stare at the slowly unfurling bud. 

“I remember what she looked like, but mostly I remember her being sad,” Thrass said. He glanced at Thrawn and added, “She did the best she could with what little she had and it was hard for her. Very hard. She loved a man far too old for her, who would never love her back. But all she ever wanted was for her children to be safe and loved… things that, at the end—and through no fault of her own—she simply could not do.” 

“He could have done something,” Thrawn said. 

“Perhaps,” Thrass said cautiously. “I suppose we should be grateful he grew a modicum of conscience after the fact… did what he doubtlessly _thought_ was the generous thing in his twisted understanding of morality.” Thrass scoffed quietly. Their adoptive (and secretly biological) father had been a famous Chiss-supremacist on top of being an adulterer. Why anyone _ever_ thought he was qualified to serve in the House of Justice was beyond him.

Thrawn nodded. “Do you think she would be proud of us?” he asked.

Thrass blinked. He could never remember Thrawn speaking so openly about their childhoods, nor the fears and hopes born of those uncertain, painful times. It was startling and disconcerting to hear Thrawn pose such a vulnerable question so openly. Oddly enough, part of him was grateful to hear him do so... even if it did mean imminent judicial disaster.

He blamed Mitth'eli'va.

“Well, proud of _me,_ at least,” Thrass said with a shrug.

"Certainly," Thrawn conceded, inclining his head.

“Honestly," Thrass began with a weary sigh, "I do not think it matters as much as we’ve been conditioned to believe. We were taught by our adoptive family that love was something that you earned. Me with my studies, _pa’i’no_ recitals, winning debate tournaments and speech contests, working to advance in the courts, ascending to Syndic, and being exceptionally good-looking.... You in the military academy, being _moderately_ good-looking, but constantly at the top of anything and everything you tried—except the _ch’ello,_ ” he added with a smirk.

Thrawn’s eyes flickered slightly with amusement as he continued to stare at the bud that was ever-so-slowly unfolding from its protective shell. “I will leave the music-making to you and Eli.”

Thrass smiled. “Music notwithstanding, you climbed the ranks and made the Mitth family proud, like I did. And in return, they continued to provide us with security: shelter, clothing, food, status.” He shrugged. “For a long time that is what I thought love _was_ , and it became how I, in turn, showed love: by providing _security_. It wasn’t until I met Eli’van’to that I considered any different.” More quietly he added, "I suspect it was the same for you."

"Perhaps," Thrawn said.

Thrass twisted his mouth thoughtfully and said, “I think he really understands love—whether through its abundance or a yearning brought on by its absence, I couldn't say—but he understands what it means to love and be loved without condition. Maybe it's just a human thing, I have no idea."

"It is not," Thrawn said. Then, he was silent for several long moments as he considered, to the point that Thrass thought he was done with the conversation, wanting only to observe the long-awaited fruits of his labor in silence.

And then, with the tone of someone stating a physical fact, Thrawn said, “I am not worthy of his love.”

Thrass shook his head. “But that’s just it: “it isn’t about _worth_. With Mitth’eli’va, at most there can only ever be…” he trailed off, considering for a moment before settling on: “Honoring. Yes, I think that’s it: honoring what is always, already freely-given by aspiring to be worthy of such a love, but also recognizing that it can never _be_ possible. And I think if he were here, he would say it was a struggle he shared—to be worthy of _you_ and _your_ love.”

Then, the blossom unfurled with a soft sound like silk against paper, setting the leaves and snow in its vicinity aglow with phosphorescent orange and red light. Hundreds of sword-like petals spread open into a sphere, each one waving faintly from the momentum of its blooming, filling the gardens with its sweet fragrance.

Thrass and Thrawn stared wide-eyed as the petals began to fall one-by-one, twirling before landing upon the snow where they faded to a dull burgundy, wilting against the cold.

Thrass placed a hand on his little brother’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze as they watched the effervescent display, perhaps only imagining that he felt Thrawn’s breath falter beneath his hand.

After the last petal fell, they stood in silence a little longer, staring at the empty space where the fiery blossom had just shone. 

At long last, Thrawn broke the silence, turning to his brother to say as-a-matter-of-factly, “I did fuck Eli on Mitth’or’nolo’s _pa’i’no_. So there's that.”

“Oh, I _heard_ ,” Thrass said lightly. “I’m sure father would have just _loved that._ ” With a light cough, he pulled out his data-pod and glanced at the time, then released a long, tired sigh. “It’s official: you’ve missed opening remarks.” He looked up at the sky, squinting his red eyes. “I’m amazed the CSF isn’t already descending upon the house.”

Thrawn shrugged. “They’re not exactly the elite: give them a little more time.”

Thrass shook his head ruefully, rubbing his eyes with one hand. “Mitth’el’iva is going to kill me. I promised him I would make sure your trial went well so he’d be free to do what he needed to do without having to worry about _you_ on top of everything else and I…” he laughed humorlessly, “I really fucked up.”

“It is not your fault,” Thrawn said. “I am notoriously incorrigible; Eli knows that.”

“No,” Thrass said, determinedly shaking his head. “This isn’t over. I won’t let this be over.” He dialed in a comm-code and held his data-pod in front of his mouth. “Judge Sef’iri?”

 _“Ah,”_ came a wry, woman’s voice. “ _It’s you… finally. What is it?”_

Thrass took a quick breath. “I’d like to request clemency for my client. I believe he deserves his trial, Your Honor.”

 _“And why, pray tell, should I grant Mitth’raw’nuruodo_ another _trial rather than send the CSF to collect him presently?”_

“Because,” Thrass said, shooting his brother a quick desperate look. “He had a really, _really_ good reason for missing it.”

_“I am almost looking forward to this: go on, Syndic.”_

“Oh, you will be _quite convinced._ See, he, er… he just…” Thrass faltered and Thrawn grabbed the hand holding the data-pod and pulled it toward his own mouth to say, “—solved the bluewheat crop shortage crisis.”

Thrass’s face twisted into an impressive confluence of shock, anger, disbelief, awe, and desperate hope. Thrawn gave him a firm, reassuring nod and Thrass smiled, his confidence returning as he pulled back the data-pod to say suavely, “I was just about to call High Syndic Lai to let him know all his troubles are over… or, more accurately, _potentially_ over. I don’t expect there’s much Mitth’raw’nuruodo can do from exile to prevent global catastrophe.”

“ _No?_ ” the Judge asked tartly. “ _And how about from_ prison _?_ ” Thrass winced and the Judge continued, “ _Because that is precisely where he will be if he is not here for his trial in half an hour. Do I make myself clear_?”

Thrass sagged in relief, falling against the garden wall and breathing out, “Perfectly clear, Your Honor.”

 _“And Syndic?”_ The Judge said. _“If he misses this one, not even the entire Aristocra will be able to help your brother. So I suggest you hurry.”_

“Yes, Your Honor,” Thrass said before hanging up and grabbing Thrawn roughly by the arm and dragging him toward the door. “I’ll make the call and—I can’t believe I’m saying this but—“ he winced, “— _you_ drive. And _pray_ that Lai’s forgotten about that time you hot-wired his speeder.”

“Ar’alani said she did not think I could and dared me to try,” Thrawn said simply. “And as it was _her father,_ I’d assumed—“

“Just…” Thrass shot his brother a look as they sped down the hall. “Get ready to sell whatever the hell it is you’ve got to sell and do not, I repeat, _do not_ bring up the speeder incident.”

“Very well,” Thrawn conceded.

Thrass groaned loudly as he dragged his brother down the hall, shooting him an accusatory look. "You were planning on leveraging that the whole time, weren't you?"

"I may have considered it," Thrawn said.

"And you didn't feel the need to inform me because...."

"Because I trusted you to do what needed to be done at the proper time," Thrawn answered simply.

Thrass rolled his eyes. "Well, _thanks_." He twisted his face into a grimace as he wrenched open the front door, muttering, “And it’s _my pa’i’no_ now, _not_ Mitth’or’nolo’s _._ ”

Thrawn smirked as he followed his brother. “I am fairly certain it is _Eli’s_ now.”

“ _He can have it._ ” 

* * *

Thrass held the data-pod beside Thrawn’s face, trying his hardest not to pay attention to just how recklessly his brother was driving.

He hadn’t realized his speeder could even _go_ that fast.

Thrass was thrown against his brother’s side as they turned, still managing to hold the data-pod up while Thrawn explained how the temperature fluctuations in the equator had driven away the wampas, which led to an increase in the ch’ougar population, which in turn drove down the snow-crane population, which drove up the frost-snail population, which drove down the mirror-moth population: the only natural predator of the ice-mite that had been praying upon the bluewheat crops that, due to the increase in rainfall, were particularly vulnerable to the tenacious pest.

 _“That’s fascinating, Mitth’raw’nuruodo,”_ High Syndic Lai said, _“and something we will certainly look into, but I’m not hearing a_ short-term _solution, which is what I desperately need before we have a global catastrophe on our hands.”_

“A very mild acid spray will be sufficient to kill the ice-mite without harming the crops,” Thrawn said.

Just as Thrass was about to tell him off for giving away his leverage by being an Ozyly-damned _know-it-all,_ he was flung against the window as Thrawn cut hard on the wheel, turning with a screech toward the House of Justice. 

Lai scoffed, “ _I’m no farmer, but even I know you can’t kill ice-mites with acid. Short of setting the entire crop on fire, I don’t know that anything_ would _do it_.”

Thrawn shook his head. “That would be the worst thing you could do. You see, the super-durable waxy coating that protects the eggs only polymerizes in response to a dry climate to maintain moisture. Because of the increase in rainfall and rising temperatures, the ice-mite eggs never had a _reason_ to polymerize. Therefore, a simple acid will be more than sufficient to destroy the eggs and, within a week, the entire population.”

 _“Huh,”_ Lai said _, “I’ll be damned.”_

Thrawn swung the speeder around to lie perfectly parallel to the sidewalk outside the Hall of Justice and opened his mouth, doubtlessly to wax poetic on acaridic environmental stress responses when Thrass pulled the data-pod away. “So you’ll help us out?”

Lai chuckled, “ _Yes, Mitth’ras’safis, I will make some calls…. Even though I have not forgotten about the speeder incident.”_

Thrawn opened his mouth to retort but was stopped by Thrass’s hand covering his mouth. “Thank you _,_ ” he said breathlessly, shooting a glare at his brother. “I’ll do what I can on my end.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I warned you I was gonna leak some feels.  
> Don't worry, Thrass and Thrawn have emoted sufficiently to last them the next twenty years or so. ~~I blame Eli's human influence~~
> 
> Chiss’yphus = Sisyphus. Why am I like this? No… don’t answer that.


	4. Our path has turned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trial and two tribulations.

**Part Four: “Our path has turned”**

_“I am led away. Once again, my path has turned._

_Where it will lead, I cannot say._

_Oh._

_Over there, apparently.”_

Timothy Zahn, _Thrawn_

Standing amidst the bustle of the grand foyer of the Hall of Justice were Agent Nas’dani and Officer Lunh’yen. Ignoring the Agent (and her impressively understated yet massively acerbic scowl), Thrawn inclined his head politely to the Officer who had served as his prison guard all those months ago.

Officer Lunh’yen made a clumsy but enthusiastic attempt at a wink: it was more an exaggerated turn of his head and squinting than anything.

Thrawn smiled at him and returned the gesture far more adroitly.

Agent Nas’dani’s glare intensified. Turning to Thrass she said, “All seven judges have been holed up in their chambers these last ten minutes.” She cast Thrawn a suspicious look and added, “Had I not known better, I’d have sworn that was High Syndic Lai’s voice coming from the comm.”

“Is eavesdropping on Judges’ chambers within the purview of your duties, Agent?” Thrass asked interestedly, as if she’d just explained some little-known and intriguing fact about wampa-claw baking. 

“The security of this institution is within my purview,” she snapped. 

“How fascinating,” Thrass said, not sounding remotely fascinated. Turning to Officer Lunh’yen he said, “Officer, would you be so kind as to escort me and my client to the dock?”

“Sir, yes, sir!” The Officer said cheerfully, gesturing with his hand for Thrawn to follow him.

Just as Thrawn was about to pass the Agent, he turned to her and asked, "Have you heard any news of the _Steadfast_?” 

She scoffed. “You think my sister keeps me updated on her military campaigns?”

“Does she not?” Thrawn asked, frowning slightly.

“You never kept _me_ updated,” Thrass muttered, trying to shove his brother along after the awkwardly-waiting Officer.

Thrawn leaned his weight back, perfectly balancing against the force of Thrass’s push. “You told me you found it boring.”

Thrass rolled his eyes. “I find _most_ things boring, but I still like to be _informed._ Now _move_.”

Thrawn ignored him, looking expectantly at the Agent. Something flickered over her expression before she resumed her scowl. “I have heard nothing for over a week now,” she said flatly.

Thrawn nodded. “Nor have I.”

“Good _day_ , Agent,” Thrass grumbled once he finally got his brother moving again, his hand keeping a firm grip on his arm as if he were worried the former-Grand Admiral might float away at any moment.

Just as the brothers reached the large black wooden doors of the court chamber, they swung open to reveal an ancient-looking Chiss being pushed in a hover-chair by a nurse, her skin so pale and wrinkled it looked like a frozen waterfall, the folds of her skin like ripples captured in ice. Her hair had aged to a sparse, bright blue, and her red eyes glowed with the intensity of a far-younger woman as she eyed Thrawn.

Thrass arched an eyebrow as he regarded her. The woman scowled at Thrawn as she was pushed past. Thrawn narrowed his red eyes, meeting her gaze with fire for fire.

She steered her hover-chair purposefully into Thrass’s leg and he jumped back with an indignant yelp. “Excuse _me_!” he muttered, smoothing out his coat.

Thrawn turned, his gaze following her as she moved down the hall, tugging against his brother’s arm as if to follow.

“No!” Thrass snapped, abruptly throwing him into the court chamber. “Get your blue ass inside!”

* * *

Thrass and Thrawn were led to the dock before the long dais upon which the seven judges would be seated once they finished whatever it was they were definitely not discussing with High Syndic Lai that might possibly compromise the objectivity of the judicial process in closed chambers.

Thrawn stared straight ahead while Thrass turned to glance at the people present. The owner of the bakery famous for its wampa-claw pastries that had been destroyed in Thrawn’s fighter-chase was seated in the front row, glaring fixedly at the back of his brother’s head. Behind her, standing out with his peachy skin, was Brierly’ron’an.

He gave Thrass an excited little wave when he caught his eye, which Thrass returned, nonplussed. 

“Huh,” Thrass said under his breath as he returned to face front. “I completely forgot that other humans existed.” He furrowed his brow as he glanced at Ronan over his shoulder. “Is he wearing a _yellow cape?_ ”

“He is, yes,” Thrawn said simply.

Thrass let out a small snort. “That can’t be good.”

“Indeed,” Thrawn said indifferently.

With a sniff, Thrass turned to regard the dock on the other side of the chamber, within which the three prosecutors sat, looking very relaxed and confident. He narrowed his eyes. He was fairly certain he’d slept with one of them in law school.

Nope, two of them.

That’s right, he remembered: he’d been dating one, got a little bored, and started having very intense study-breaks with her twin brother.

They seemed to be getting along quite well _now_ , he noticed, as they turned to glare at him in sync.

“Shit,” Thrass muttered, joining his brother in staring resolutely ahead.

At long last, a chime sounded, alerting the chamber to the official start of the trial.

The seven judges arrived, dressed in identical gray robes. Two of the judges regarded Thrawn with faint interest. Two more appeared completely indifferent to his presence. The remaining three did not look pleased.

At all.

Thrass swallowed dryly as he prepared to deliver his opening remarks. 

* * *

The trial had been going on for nearly six hours and the prosecution hadn’t even breached the surface of the iceberg’s worth of evidence they had against Thrawn: everything from holos of damaged fighter-craft, to quotes from CDF officials, and one particularly stirring testimony from a local baker who broke down into tears and had to be escorted from the court.

With the air of a magician performing their next trick, Prosecutor Chaf’av’ordo turned to the judges and said, “With your permission, your honors, the prosecution wishes to introduce evidence #C-409.

“Fuck,” Thrass muttered, quickly schooling his features as the judges motioned disinterestedly for him to proceed.

Prosecutor Chaf’av’ordo waved a hand and the sound of static echoed briefly in the courtroom before it was replaced by a woman’s voice:

“ _Sector 19 clear—no, wait.”_

_“Is that a TIE fighter?”_

_“Identify yourself and your purpose immediately.”_

_“I_ _n the Galactic Empire_ _I am called Grand Admiral Thrawn, but my_ name _is Mitth’raw’nuruodo: and I am here on_ family _business.”_

_“Wait, who did he say he was?”_

_“This is beyond my pay-grade.”_

_“Did he just—“_

_"How in Csilla's seven moons did he—ALERT THE CDF!"_

Thrass turned his head to stare at his brother as the sounds of ion-cannon fire sounded from the speakers above their heads.

Thrawn stared determinedly ahead, sensing his brother’s stare boring into his cheek as he continued to listen to the planetary defense pilots contact headquarters for orders amidst the explosions. Eventually, he turned and raised his brows slightly in a “ _what?_ ” expression.

“ _CALL BACK-UP! I REPEAT, CALL BACK-UP!”_ a voice shouted above them.

Thrass shook his head in disappointment and turned back to face the front of the room.

_“He’s just crashed his TIE into the cliff!”_

_“Is he dead?”_

_“Oh wait, he’s—“_

_“How did he_ do _that?!”_

_“Squad 4, approaching target now, he has disembarked the TIE and is—“_

_“Blasters on stun!”_

Thrass closed his eyes as the CSF ground patrol engaged his brother, the recording quickly devolving into a series of thuds, shots, bangs, and occasional screams.

_“What the—“_

_"Is that my speeder?!"_

_“OH, SWEET SKYWALKERS, MY LEG!”_

The prosecutor waved his hand again and the recording stopped. Rather than comment on the material presented, he bowed to the judges, resting his case.

Thrawn opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by Thrass holding a silencing finger inches from his face. “ _Don’t_.”

* * *

It was finally over.

After seven long, _long_ hours it was done.

Thrass felt a powerful urge to smoke a cigarette. He wasn’t sure what that meant, but he’d heard Mitth’el’iva mention it once and suffocating himself with toxic smoke sounded appealing.

The Judges would convene for three days—no more, no less—to discuss the evidence and settle upon a sentence.

Because whether Thrawn were exiled or not, Thrass was certain there _would_ be some manner of sentence.

Thrawn stood, straightening his coat and looking down at his still-seated brother expectantly. “We can return home now, yes?”

Thrass sighed and nodded, standing with a groan. He did his best to avoid making eye-contact with anyone as he followed his brother out of the chamber. It was rather contrary to tradition for the barrister to follow the client, but it hardly mattered anymore.

Thrass patted at his coat as they stepped into the atrium. “Where the hell is my wallet?”

Thrawn shook his head ruefully. “No one ever listens.”

“Huh?” Thrass’s patting hands becoming increasingly frantic as they searched his pockets.

“Steph’hane is back on the streets,” Thrawn said darkly.

Thrass stared at his brother blankly for a few moments before his eyes widened in realization. “You mean that little old lady in the hover-chair was the _art thief?_ ”

“I told you,” Thrawn said. “Her mind is as sharp and devious as ever.” His expression darkened as he added, “One does not like to think of criminals as being born, but I believe that one may have been destined for a life of crime.”

“She can’t even _go anywhere,_ ” Thrass said, his voice going high. “What the _wa'mp'thana_ does she need my _wallet_ for?”

“Some people do not need a reason to hurt others, Thrass.” His red eyes flashed and he said, “For her, there is only the thrill of the crime.”

“Wonderful,” Thrass muttered, his posture resigned as the pair made their way to the main doors.

Then, something strange happened.

Agent Nas’dani was actually _running_ toward them.

Thrawn automatically assumed a defensive position between her and his brother and Thrass rolled his eyes. “Yes, Agent?” he asked bitterly over his brother's shoulder, “Did they decide to make an exception for my brother and opt to convene for just three _minutes_ instead?”

Thrass frowned when he saw the look on her face.

“Is it the _Steadfast_?” Thrawn asked, his voice low and urgent.

Agent Nas’dani turned to regard him, her usually bright-blue face pale.

She nodded.

* * *

“I don’t _care,_ Syndic, _get me a direct comm-line to the CDF now!_ ” Thrass bit out into his data-pod, maintaining a firm grip on the seat beneath him as Thrawn drove the speeder with suicidal-fury to CDF headquarters.

As Thrawn cut sharply on the wheel, bringing the speeder to a halt half-way up the large stone steps, several passers-by and CDF officials stared at them with subdued yet scandalized faces.

Thrass was just grateful Thrawn had parked it _outside._

By the time Thrass managed to extricate himself from the straps of his seatbelt, Thrawn was already running up the steps.

Technically, Thrawn was not supposed to be here for several reasons. Most pressing was the fact that his house-arrest was still under effect, having only been permitted to leave the manor to attend his trial.

When Thrass finally caught up with his brother, he was standing and speaking with a woman in a white admiral’s uniform, the gold sash of the Praetoria across her chest. 

He stood frozen in the entryway, his heart beating a mile a minute as he saw Thrawn’s entire body wilt ever-so-slightly from its usually-perfect military posture. The Admiral gave the former commander a fleeting touch on his arm before turning to regard Thrass. She nodded her head behind her, gesturing for him to follow.

Thrass did his best to maintain his composure as he hurried forward. When he reached his brother, Thrawn gave his arm a quick touch before turning to follow the Admiral Praetoria to her office. 

The Admiral opened the door for the pair; the comm unit on the desk was already chiming melodically with an incoming transmission.

Thrass gave his brother’s shoulder a squeeze and whispered, “Give him my best.”

Thrawn frowned. “You do not wish to speak with him?”

“I will,” Thrass assured him, giving him a nudge into the office. When Thrawn hesitated, Thrass smiled and said, “ _Really_ , Thrawn,” before closing the door after him.

* * *

Thrawn took a deep breath as he sat at Admiral Praetoria Napo’leana’s desk, staring at the inlaid terminal, his heart rate matching the quick rhythm of the comm’s chime.

Thrawn waved his hand to accept the call, his entire body flooding with warm relief.

Eli looked worse for wear reclined against the headboard of his medbay bed, but his smile lit up his bruised face when he saw his husband and bond-mate. “Hey there, gorgeous: long time no see,” he said, his Wild-Space drawl a little raspy perhaps, but sounding much the same as ever. 

“Eli, are you alright?” Thrawn asked urgently.

Eli smiled warmly at him. “Don’t worry about me, I’m fine. I wanna hear about your trial.”

Thrawn blinked at him. “You almost _died._ ”

“Yeah,” Eli said dismissively. “ _Almost_ being the operative word there.”

Thrawn narrowed his eyes. “I think you’ll find _died_ is the operative word in that sentence, Lieutenant Commander.”

“It wasn’t that serious: really.” Eli gave an embarrassed little smile, wrinkling his nose slightly as he said, “And it’s actually _Captain,_ now.”

Thrawn’s mouth parted slightly, pride edging out the fear in his heart. “ _Another_ promotion in a _year_? Eli, that’s—that is _unheard_ of.”

“Oh it is, is it?” Eli asked with a one-sided smirk. “I seem to remember a fair degree of rank-hopping on your end.”

Thrawn shook his head. “In the Empire, not the _CDF._ The CDF has actual _standards._ ”

“Maybe,” Eli said, a pleased-blush on his cheeks. “But sometimes I think they’re gonna just say ‘fuck it’ and make me an Admiral Praetoria just to spite _you_.”

“Well, then that only shows they do not know me very well,” Thrawn said. “It would make me immeasurably happy for you to reach that rank.”

Eli crinkled his nose slightly. “Really?”

“Yes,” Thrawn assured him. “It is a great deal of desk-work: a very low-key position with minimal risk of death, and a majority of time spent planet-side. And,” he added, lowering his voice, “I know for a fact that you look _very good in gold_.”

“Well then,” Eli said, moistening his lips with his tongue. “I shall strive to achieve that rank as quickly as possible.”

Thrawn felt his whole body thrum with affection. “See that you do, Captain Vanto.”

“But seriously, Thrawn, you’re killin’ me here,” Eli said with an impatient bounce. “I wanna hear all about the trial.” He glanced over his shoulder before turning back to whisper, “I may or may not have heard one of the girls drop to the Admiral that she’d had a premonition of Csilla in flames and famine if you weren’t acquitted and allowed back into the CDF, and…” He lowered his voice even further and added, “While I can’t be positive, I’m _pretty sure_ she made it up.”

“We gave my defense just now,” Thrawn said, careful not to mention the fact that they almost _hadn’t_. “The Judges will be in closed session for three days, and then we will know.”

Eli’s mouth twisted into a frown. “I doubt I can get home by then—oof!” seemingly out of nowhere, a flash of blue, silver, and black appeared as two navigators threw themselves onto the human’s bed, splaying across his legs. As they straightened, their faces filled the entire frame of the comm terminal on Thrawn’s end.

“Hi!” One of the girls Thrawn vaguely recognized from the night of his return waved excitedly at him. “Congratulations on your equal-doll!”

“ _Acquittal_ ,” the other girl corrected.

The first girl rolled her eyes. “I _knew_ you were gonna say that.”

“Jen’daya, Nev’hee, could you please give me and Mitth’raw’nuruodo a moment? Also, I can’t feel my feet.” He smiled at the girls and gave them each a ruffle of blue-black hair as they left. Turning back to Thrawn, he said with a shrug, “Well, I don’t know why I bother askin’ anybody who isn’t a prescient child questions anymore. Still, that’s a load off my mind.”

Thrawn smiled warmly at him. “Indeed.”

Eli fidgeted slightly, plucking at the doubtlessly-uncomfortable medbay-issued clothing he was wearing. “Well, I don’t know when I’m comin’ home, but—“

Nev’hee’s head suddenly popped back into the room, chirping, “—Five weeks!” before being pulled away by Jen’daya.

Eli took it in stride, calling after the retreating girls, “Thanks!” Turning back to Thrawn, he smiled. “Alright then, what do you want to do in five weeks?”

Thrawn’s answer was both immediate and unexpected: “I want to show you a holo-recording and hear you play the _ch’ello_ with my brother.”

Eli blinked. “ _That’s_ what you want to do first?” He tilted his head in confusion. “Do you want me to be naked?

Thrawn shook his head. “No. I just want to sit, watch, and listen.”

“Alright…” Eli said with a small sigh. “I haven’t played the ch’ello before—I mean, I know it’s a lot like the Lysatran banjerhu…” he paused. “Can _you_ be naked?”

Thrawn inclined his head. “If you like, Captain. Now,” he said, his tone shifting. “Tell me _everything_ about your battles with the Grysk.”

Eli arched a suggestive eyebrow. “ _Naked_ , or…”

Thrawn’s mouth spread into a mischievous grin as he unfastened his collar. “If you like.”

**_To be continued..._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little Ronbi sprinkle for you cape-trash-shippers
> 
> The name of Thrawn's nemesis, the ancient art forger/thief criminal mastermind, is inspired by the real-life art thief Stéphane Breitwieser
> 
> The story will be continued in **War Games!**


End file.
